


In The Wings

by bookworm03



Series: The First Lady [1]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9978689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/pseuds/bookworm03
Summary: Ben Wyatt is a Secret Service agent protecting the president. He also has a history with the first lady.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY NUTRIYUM_ADDICT! Thank you for always being so kind and encouraging. I'm sorry this is so late, but I do hope you enjoy it! <3 <3 
> 
> Special thank you to the amazing c00kie who challenged me to do something different and outside of my comfort zone and was there every single time I needed to start this thing from scratch. And thank you to ashisfriendly for sharing her thoughts and being a beautiful sunflower. 
> 
> I know this is another Secret Service type AU, but I hope it is something very different and fun. Comments and kudos are amazing. You guys are the greatest. I hope you enjoy this!

It’s a cold morning, but despite the urge to press snooze and burrow further under his blankets, Ben makes it to the airfield on time. Maverick is around the corner and Chris is already there, standing at the base of a staircase. Ben's breath fogs the air in front of him. The police car with lights flashing pulls up first, followed by a black SUV and then, a black limousine. They stop a few hundred feet from the staircase and Chris smooths out the smile on his face, jaw setting the same way Ben’s is. It’ll be a long flight to England and Ben’s not sure he can take the perkiness. It’s not their job to be perky.

The on-duty agents emerge first, in black suits and sunglasses. They’ll travel with them after the handoff, to relieve Ben and Chris of their duties in twelve hours time. Ben squares his shoulders as they open the door to the limousine and he catches his charge’s shoe settling on the ground. The night agents motion him forward and the president steps into view. He’s in a navy suit today, with a blue checkered tie. His hair has been recently cut, something no one would notice unless they were really paying attention to detail.

But it is Ben’s job to pay attention to detail.

“Maverick on the move.”

The president smiles, his campaign-winning smile where he flashes a row of perfect white teeth. The same smile he flashed twenty months ago when he strolled onto a stage in Baltimore for his victory speech. In Ben’s periphery he sees the flash of a lens, just outside the secured perimeter. The president waves in their direction and then holds out a hand. Red high heels plant on the pavement, leading the way up to a pale leg and the hem of a black dress. She’s so tiny, Ben only catches her bright blonde hair through a small gap in the sizeable Secret Service agents.

A few photographers and reports start shouting for them and the first lady just waves politely, the early morning sunbeams bouncing off her hair. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips are a demure pink. Ben remembers days of red lipstick and slightly messy curls. Nothing about Leslie Carmichael (née Knope) is messy anymore.

They wave to the cameras for a few more seconds before heading towards the staircase leading into Air Force One. The president greets Ben by clasping hand to shoulder, and Leslie’s blue eyes lift. 

“Good morning” she says, her voice clear and bright.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

Her nose scrunches and something deep in Ben’s gut twists. She smells good. Fresh and clean and faintly floral. He keeps his gaze on their surroundings as the first couple disappears up and inside the plane.

“Maverick and Marigold are secure.” He speaks into his sleeve and then follows them.

*****

“Is she at school?” President Carmichael asks his wife. Leslie’s sitting in an oversized, tan leather chair, her legs crossed and her computer open in front of her. To her right, there's a cup of hot chocolate that's mostly whipped cream. In the center of the large, oak table, there's a vase of pink tulips. Leslie nods.

“Andy just took her.”

Ben glances over and sees fourteen-year-old Sophie Knope staring back at them through the screen. Carmichael frowns.

“Aren’t you in class?”

“It hasn’t started yet - hi Ben!” She waves cheerfully when she notices him. Her light brown hair falls in front of her face and blue eyes, Leslie’s eyes, dart frantically around the monitor

“Hey.” His heart starts to pound a little, despite Ben’s best attempts to keep it level. 

“Soph - ”

“Dad, I’m in class and Andy’s right outside. Chill. Oh, and bring me back a Union Jack pin please.”

“Don’t you have enough pins?”

Ben can see her backpack on the bench, covered with different national flags and emblems from all the countries her parents have visited over the last eighteen months. She wants to go herself, but  _school keeps getting in the way_ (her words).

“Ben, don’t let them forget to bring me a pin.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m not going to forget.” Leslie chimes in. “Class is starting, we’ll talk to you after school.”

Sophie sighs exasperatedly, the same way her mother does. 

“Call me later.” 

“Do your homework. Love you.”

*****

They touch down in London at 6pm local time and are met by a new convoy of vehicles meant to take them to their hotel. Ben emerges from the plane first, catching sight of a whole row of photographers allowed inside the airfield. It’s iconic London weather, but the cool drizzle does nothing to keep the crowds at bay. The president waves cheerfully and, as always, reaches for Leslie’s hand. His grip is loose, but he shoots her a loving look as he steers her across the tarmac and towards the waiting vehicles. 

Ben slides in the front passenger seat and turns around. 

“The hotel first, Ben?” President Carmichael asks. Ben nods, resisting the urge to smile when Leslie looks at him. It's more reflex than anything. 

“Yes sir. And then tea with the Prime Minister.”

“And maybe a nap.” Carmichael chuckles. “Somewhere in there, let’s get a nap.”

“He didn’t sleep well on the plane.”

“You didn’t sleep at all.” He teases his wife back.

“I’m sure there will be time for some rest.” Ben says, as they pull out of the airport, watching their headlights carve a path along the steadily darkening streets. 

_*****_

“What are you doing out here?” he hears her call softly. Ben turns as Leslie steps outside and into the garden of Winfield House. He wants to answer  _his job_ , but he’s really not. He was in the ambassador’s living room, perched in a corner while he watched the first couple make their rounds. His throat had felt tight and something deep down was hot and bubbling again, so Ben had gone outside for some air.

It’s guilt, he tells himself. Guilt for lying by omission to the president about his own history with the first lady. Guilt for pushing everyone, including Leslie, away after Ice Town.

Guilt for hating that a husband wants to kiss his wife. 

“Do you want some of these little sausage things? They’re delicious.” She holds out a paper napkin and the thing churning in Ben swells to affection. He spears a mini sausage with a toothpick and pops it into his mouth. Leslie says she would’ve brought him the most delicious white wine ever, but he’s on duty. A drop of rain splatters on her nose and she scrunches it.

“You should go inside, ma’am.”

She gives him a little smile and nods, before turning on her heel and retreating back into the house.

Ben swallows until the ache in the back of his throat goes away.

*****

Leslie appears in a deep purple gown, with jewelled straps and a low back. Her hair’s loose, with waves framing her face. A few people cry for her attention and then the president’s, who smiles, draws Leslie in close and whispers something in her ear. Whatever it is, it makes her face flush. 

“Hi Ben." Her eyes are a dazzling, electric, and Ben’s fingers twitch to push her hair off her face.

He can’t help it. He remembers kissing her neck, the scent of coconut surrounding him, her hair sliding between his fingers like silk. He should have forgotten every detail of the two hours they spent in his car fifteen years ago, but he hasn't. 

Ben follows the first couple to their table. Leslie sits and the president motions he’s going to go backstage. 

“He’s nervous.” Leslie explains, to no one in particular. Her gaze lands on Ben and she inclines her head.

“You look handsome.”

Ben thanks her as she stands to reach for a bottle of wine across the table. He dips to assist and catches a whiff of coconut. He lets his eyes fall shut for a brief second and then sets the bottle in front of Leslie, before returning to his post without another word.

*****

“Is he in there?” A bright voice cuts through the silence. Leslie is there, having just arrived a few minutes earlier from her trip out west. She’d given a commencement address and her plane had landed less than an hour earlier. She’s wearing converse sneakers with her hair piled on top of her head and sunglasses pushed back.

Ben nods. “He’s talking to the Prime Minister.”

“What Prime Minister?”

“That’s classified, ma’am.”

Leslie rolls her eyes a little. “He’ll tell me later.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“But you’re still going to make me wait.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She grumbles something about waffles. She loves waffles.  

“I’ll tell the president you’re back.”

“Lovely.” She says, deadpan, before turning on her heel and walking away.

***** 

She’s sitting in a chair, legs folded up to her chest and  _Friends_  playing in the background. Her cheek’s on her knees and her blue eyes seem more grey, like there’s a storm brewing inside her.

“Ma’am. They wanted to know if you were eating anything.” 

“No thank you.”

Her pale skin almost appears tinged green and Ben resists the urge to reach out and touch her, just to offer a reassuring shoulder squeeze. 

“Ben?”

He looks up.

“Do you remember model UN?”

“Vaguely.” He lies. Like meeting Leslie isn’t one of the first things that crosses his mind when he wakes up in the morning. As if he doesn’t flashback to her in that gym, killing it, or to them in his car and the way her lips tasted like sugar. 

“It was a long time ago.” She replies. Ben gives a curt nod as she unfurls herself. He remembers how hot she’d been, a little ball of fire he’d held between his hands.

Ben gives his head a quick shake and Leslie asks if he’s okay.

“I’m fine. Do you need anything, ma’am?”

“I could use some saltines and gingerale.” She hesitates. “But that’s not your - ”

“I’ll bring you them.”

She sighs a thank you as he starts to go, but Ben turns back.

“Why don’t you go lie down?” He’s overstepping. It feels like he’s overstepping just by suggesting that.

It’s then the president walks in. His face is red.

“Honey.”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey - ”

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

“Do you - ”

“I said I’m fine.” She stands up abruptly and stalks out of the room. The president pinches the bridge of his nose. The lines on his face seemed to have deepened in just a few hours.

“When it’s good, it’s good, and when it’s bad it’s…that.” He gestures at his retreating wife.

“What is, sir?”

“Marriage.”

Ten minutes later, Ben finds Leslie in a different room and places gingerale and saltines in front of her. She thanks him with a pat to the back of his hand.

*****

“Hey Ben!” Sophie’s sitting at the kitchen table when he walks in to get a glass of water. His USMC t-shirt is sticking to his back and he wipes his brow with the hem of it. She’s watching him with interest.

“Basketball?”

“Yeah. Algebra?”

She crinkles her nose in the exact same way Leslie does. Her hair is swept into a long ponytail and she’s wearing an Indiana University sweatshirt that swallows her.

“Can I play?”

“Are you done your algebra?”

“I will be if you help me.”

Ben snorts and ruffles her hair. She smacks him away.

“I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t mess up a teenage girl’s hair. What’s wrong with you?”

“Do your homework, Soph, then you can play.”

She picks up her pencil and goes back to her books with a grumble.

*****

The French First Lady dazzles the press in a pale blue dress that fits her “exquisitely” (one of the aide’s words), but Ben’s looks somewhere else. Leslie’s wearing green, her complexion is back to normal and her husband’s hand is on her waist. The French President kisses both her cheeks and squeezes both her hands tightly, before turning to Carmichael. The two women embrace. The foyer is opulent, with chandeliers and rich tapestries that are a perfect backdrop for the attractive couples.

The four of them are presented with glasses of red wine. Carmichael and Leslie exchange a look as she accepts hers. He gives her a little nods and she appears to swallow hard. They toast and everyone takes a hearty gulp except Leslie. She takes a sip so tiny, Ben’s not sure she actually consumed any of the liquid. The French President explains where the wine is from and Carmichael comments on how nice it is. As they enter the dining room, Carmichael pulls Leslie in and gives her a surprisingly long kiss. She murmurs. She always makes little sounds - sighs, even giggles - when she’s being kissed. At least in his experience. 

He absolutely should not know that.

*****

She’s crying.

He’s walking through the West Wing, his usual lap, and he finds her in the Oval Office. She’s sitting in the desk chair, the president’s chair, and she’s crying softly into a Kleenex. When Ben scuffles his shoes to make his presence known she sits up abruptly. 

There’s a large glass of white wine beside her.

“Sorry.” She wipes her face. “Am I in your way?”

“No.” It takes everything in him not to ask what’s wrong. She wipes again and gives him a watery smile. 

“I’m going to go watch a movie anyway.”

Leslie stands and gathers up her wine and tissue box. Ben hesitates.

“Are…”

Her tiny hand pats his chest as she leaves and the words die before they can escape his lips.

*****

They’re sitting in the back of the presidential limo. Leslie’s in a smart black suit with a pale pink blouse and not a hair out of place. The president’s suit is also black and his tie’s blood red, which matches his pocket square perfectly. They hold hands the entire way, whispering to each other about different things related to his speech. At one point, Leslie says something about an amendment to one of the lines and Carmichael waves her off.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what this is about.”

“But it needs saying, especially with everything that’s going on.”

“Not tonight.”

Ben watches her deflate. It’s subtle, but her shoulders slump and her eyes go to her hands. She slides against the leather as the car turns. Carmichael drops her fingers and rubs her knee.

“I think that’s something you should mention when you go to that conference next month, don’t you? I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.”

He’s patronizing her.

Leslie says nothing in response as the limo pulls up in front of the university.

*****

“Sophie wanted to come.” Leslie says. Ben had somehow ended up seated beside her while Carmichael’s backstage getting ready to go on. She crosses and then uncrosses her ankles; it's a nervous tick. The stage lights are blinding to everyone in the front row and the room feels muggy due to the number of bodies in it. Ben adjusts his tie a little. 

“But apparently she’s got to do her algebra. At least that’s what somebody told her.” 

Ben does not respond, but Leslie continues anyway.

“A certain Secret Service agent who's definitely a numbers robot.”

Ben licks his lips, the hair on the back of his neck prickling at how she teases him. He still says nothing. 

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t know what she’s thanking him for. For overstepping? For parenting a child he has no right to parent? For…

“I liked your…that change you suggested.”

The words are out before he can stop them. Ben glances over and Leslie’s eyes are locked on his. His chest tightens and his stomach clenches.

“Thanks.” She smells good, too good. Like sunshine, oranges and positivity. Her pink lips are pouting and he clenches his fists to keep them where they need to be, because where they want to be is touching her.

It’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged these feelings with her right in front of him.

A hush falls over the crowd as the dean of the university walks on stage and clears his throat in the microphone. Leslie breaks Ben’s gaze first, turning to see her husband making his entrance.

The audience erupts in applause. 

*****

The Q & A period gets a little intense, especially when questions regarding education reform are brought up, but the president handles himself expertly. He always does. Leslie claps loudly and out of the corner of his eye Ben sees the TV camera angle her way. The president returns so Ben vacates his seat and heads back to his original post.

As soon as the speeches have ended, Chris is in Ben’s ear saying that local police are advising them not to linger. There’s been some people hanging around just outside the perimeter, and while it’s probably nothing, their job is not based on probability. Ben intervenes with the first couple and quietly asks them to follow Chris. Carmichael takes the direction immediately, but Leslie’s in deep conversation with a student. The girl is young, maybe a freshman, and bears a slight resemblance to Sophie. 

Ben closes his hand around Leslie’s elbow.

“I’m sorry ma’am.”

She shoots him a dirty look, apologizes to the girl, and allows herself to be led out after her husband. They walk purposefully through the empty corridors, flanked by agents, and push out a side entrance towards the car.

Instantly, there’s a loud  _pop_ and Leslie yelps as a second shot rings out. Chris’s body goes flying forward and another agent leaps at Carmichael.

They all leap towards Carmichael. Ben does not. 

Ben ends up, pulse racing and blood pounding in his ears, with the first lady pinned under him. His hand’s behind her head, his arm’s around her waist and her nose is inches from his. Her chest is heaving.

“Move, move, move.” Someone shouts. Ben shoves Leslie into the car as the rest of the agents do the same to Carmichael. Ben climbs in beside her and Chris falls in through the other door as the driver peels out onto the main street.

They breathe.

Leslie’s stockings are ripped and her hair is everywhere. The knot of Carmichael’s tie is no longer perfect and his shirt is rumpled. Leslie’s trembling, but every eye in the limousine seems trained on Ben. 

He’s supposed to protect the president. Leslie has her own detail. They were there, right behind him, coming down the street. They could’ve protected her. That was their job.

He hadn’t been thinking. He’d showed his hand.

“Sweetheart,” Carmichael pulls Leslie in. He kisses her forehead, her nose, then her lips. “Are you alright?”

She nods, face twisting painfully as if she's trying to speak but nothing's coming out. She takes his hand. Leslie’s other fingers grip her knee so tightly her knuckles turn white.

“Ben” she finally calls, so softly that even in the enclosed space he’s the only one who seems to hear her. He looks up and they simply stare at each other for too long.

They will ask him why. The director is probably already on their way to the White House to intercept Ben and ask him why he would put the president at risk to save the first lady. She has her own detail and she’s expendable; the president is not.

They will ask him what in the hell he was thinking.

And he will have no good answer, because he cannot tell them the real one.

He loves her, of course. He’d choose her a thousand times over. 

And now he might never get to be near her again. 

*****

He is not fired.

The Secret Service director is there and he talks to the president before Ben. When they do bring in Ben, their points are succinct. _While his error was egregious, the president has asked you to stay on_.

“You protected one of the two people I care about most in the world.” Carmichael says. “I would give my life for theirs any day.”

Ben doesn’t understand why it sounds pompous instead of caring, but it does. It also sort of makes him want to punch the president.

And now he’s staying the night. It’s late and Carmichael offered him a place to sleep. Sophie passes him in the hallway as he goes to his room. She gasps and throws her arms around Ben as tightly as she can manage.

“Mom told me.” She says. “Are you okay?”

He keeps his hands lightly on her sides.

“I’m fine.”

“Did they fire you?” Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are huge. Ben shakes his head.

“Good.” She hugs him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling away entirely. “And my dad’s okay?”

Ben nods, his skin burning from where her lips had touched him. She swipes at her face and takes off towards the West Wing without any warning, her purple plaid pajama pants trailing along the floor as she goes.

Ben finds the bedroom he’s been designated for the night. The bed is large with a dark navy comforter and a window looking over the garden. He sheds his clothes, grabs a fluffy blue towel from a shelf in the ensuite and steps into the shower. He closes his eyes and lets the scalding hot water run over him, as if that’ll be enough to burn away everything that needs to be gone.

He thinks of Leslie’s gaze, feels her hot breath and her golden hair sliding through his fingers. Good lord, had he been stroking her hair? Had anyone else seen that? Surely if they had his meeting with the president would’ve gone a whole lot differently.

Ben pushes his hair out of his face and turns off the shower. He dries off and pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers from a bag that had been stowed in his car. He flips on the TV to ESPN just to avoid the news and his own thoughts.

He’s barely sat on the bed and is contemplating a beer when there’s a knock at the door.

Ben stands slowly, even though his heart’s pounding so hard it feels like his chest might explode. It could be anyone, but somehow Ben knows it’s not. His muscles are twitching with anticipation as he crosses the room and pulls the door back. Leslie’s there, in her robe and pajama pants, her hair still a mess of curls. Her makeup is gone, save for the remnants of mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

“Hi.” She looks like she’s been crying or she might start at any moment.

“Hi.” 

Leslie glances around the hallway. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. The air between them seems to vibrate with tension.

“Can I come in?” Her hands are shaking too. Ben tries to answer, but his mouth is too dry. Instead he just takes a step back and Leslie moves into the room.

They need to talk, but he fears there’s nothing left to say.


End file.
